


Fearless On My Breath

by t_fic (topaz), topaz, topaz119 (topaz)



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Coda, F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-07
Updated: 2011-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-16 04:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/t_fic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz119
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve goes still under her touch, the kind of quiet that comes at the center of a typhoon or right before the C4 ignites. Scary, but that's where Kono is, too, so it's maybe familiar in a way that she’s going to have to think long and hard about sometime later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fearless On My Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Coda to _Hana'a'a Makehewa_ ; spoilers through 1x12.

On the fourth trip around her tiny apartment, Kono makes herself stop pacing mindlessly and start dealing with reality. The adrenaline is still pumping through her system, no matter that it's been hours since she held Victor Hesse in the sight of her rifle and put a round high into his shoulder. The paperwork necessary to book the scum has long since been filed, and Kono isn't thinking about the money that went floating into the smoke. Chin is safe, that's what matters, and he's still saner than anyone else Kono knows. When Kono left him at the office, he and Kamekona were on their way to introduce Danny to the joys of Korean barbecue. It goes without saying that there will be more than a little soju involved; Kono's looking forward to seeing the monster hangover they're all likely to have in the morning.

She can't begin to express how happy she is to see Chin hanging out with Danny; and earlier in the day, all she thought she needed was to know Chin was okay. He is, but it isn't helping with the edgy, unsettled need whispering in her brain, her muscles, her _blood_. It's like the high from the biggest waves, only twisted; pure energy gone dark and hissing around the edges. She's not going to be able to sleep until she can wrestle it back into the box it broke free of, and to do that, she needs to wear it out. She could swim, or she could run, but those are too easy, too predictable. Whatever it is that's fueling everything inside her wants more than just physical exhaustion.

She's already showered and washed the dirt of Waipahu out of her hair, and she's not in the mood to play dress-up, so she's out the door and on her way to find someplace with a good sound system and a staff who won't care if she's in cargo pants and a tank top. The first two places she tries aren't right--wrong music, crappy clientele--but she hits pay dirt with her third try. The DJ is working one mix into the next seamlessly, so she doesn't have to get off the dance floor until she needs a drink; the bartender sets her up with shots and follows every one of them up with a bottles of water he pulls from the ice machine; and the security team is discreet enough that she has to pay attention to see them hustling the troublemakers off the floor.

After the second time she tells the bartender to keep the drinks that random guys are sending her, he grins at her. "You're breaking their hearts, _ipo_."

"It's not their hearts they're thinking about," she tells him and his grin turns sharp and knowing. He doesn't bother her again for an hour, though, and when he drops a shot of tequila in front of her then, he jerks his head toward the other end of the bar.

"This one says he knows you."

Kono looks, and then looks again, because it's McGarrett looking back at her, dark and dangerous in all black.

"Yeah, he does," Kono answers, picking up the tequila and the lime and working her way down to where Steve's leaning on the bar, beer in hand and a bottle of Jack behind him.

"I didn't figure this for your kind of place," Kono says, leaning in close so she doesn't have to scream over the music, close enough that she can feel the heat he's putting out. He smells like soap and tobacco, with the faintest trace of gun oil over it all.

"I could say the same for you," Steve says, with a shrug. "Not exactly that North Shore vibe in here."

Kono looks at him for a long few seconds, and then counters with a shrug of her own. "I wasn't in the mood for surfers tonight." She doesn't say that she's not sure what she's in the mood for, that whatever it is is still crawling just under skin, but she thinks maybe he knows anyway. "What's your excuse?"

"The _Enterprise_ deployed late last week," Steve says. "Won't be back for at least a month." It doesn't surprise Kono at all that Catherine is apparently in the loop on this sort of a thing. He doesn't say anything about what might be crawling under his own skin, but he doesn't bother to hide it either.

He takes a long drink of his beer, his throat flexing and relaxing, and Kono makes herself look away. There's walking the edge, and then there's criminally stupid, and wondering what her _boss_ might sound like if she bit him under the jaw is such a bad idea she can't even begin to go there. It doesn't help that she knows he hasn't missed a thing.

"Thanks for the drink," Kono says, tipping back the shot and taking it neat, and then licking the juice off the edge of her hand after she bites into the lime wedge. She doesn't say _Happy hunting_ , and she doesn't look back when she walks away. This time when she hits the dance floor, she's not just looking to wear herself out. This time, she makes eye contact with whoever dances up on her, lets them audition for the rest of the night. Most of them back off when they really get a good look at her eyes; she lets the few who don't hang around for a song or two, but she can tell none of them are what she wants. None of them are going to take care of even part of what's still crawling under her skin. She knows what she wants just as sure as she knows she can't have it.

And every time she looks for it, Steve's looking right back at her.

"This is stupid, Kono," she says to herself, even as she signals the bartender for a couple of tequilas. "You're smarter than this."

She grabs both glasses and starts back down toward Steve's end of the bar, and the hum of anticipation that curves low and growling through her once Steve catches sight of her proves just how much she doesn't know know better. He holds her eyes the whole way, and takes the glass she hands him without comment.

The tequila is sharp and strong on her tongue, the first raw burn giving way to the depths and shadings of the smoky agave. Steve drinks with her, his hand brushing hers as they drop the glasses back on the bar. Kono manages not to jump at the touch, but it's harder than it should be.

"Are you just going to watch me all night?" Kono finally asks.

"I shouldn't even be doing that," Steve says. Kono knows that flat tone. He's really good at using it to hold people at arm's length, but she's watched Danny blow right by it often enough to know better than to take it at face value.

"Leaving aside all the other shit that's happened today that shouldn't have, that doesn't answer my question."

"No," Steve answers, looking away from her for the first time, his eyes flickering back and forth, like he's assessing the area for a threat. "It doesn't."

Kono looks at him for a long time, then shrugs and finds a couple of twenties in the front pocket of her jeans. She catches the bartender's eye and drops the money on the bar to cover her tab. However Steve answers--if he answers--she's out of here. Leaving the apartment was a reasonable idea, but it's not working; there are plenty of places she can drink off the adrenaline cheaper if it comes right down to it.

"I guess that's as much of an answer as anything," she says, and starts for the door. She gets two steps before he stops her, his hand gentle, almost hesitant on her arm. Even in the low light, she can see the bruises and cuts across his knuckles, stark mementos of the day written in flesh and blood.

"Kono," Steve says, barely loud enough to be heard over the music. Kono's not sure that she's ever seen him so uncertain before. Right or wrong, he never doesn't pick a direction and move, but maybe this day has crossed some kind of limit even for him.

"What are these?" Kono takes his hand in hers, runs her thumb lightly over the marks on it. "Failures? Trophies?"

"Maybe both," Steve answers, still in that low voice, but he doesn't resist when Kono brings his hand up and brushes a kiss over the longest of the cuts, a split in the skin that stretches over two knuckles. He goes still under her touch, the kind of quiet that comes at the center of a typhoon or right before the C4 ignites. Scary, but that's where Kono is, too, so it's maybe familiar in a way that she's going to have to think long and hard about sometime later.

"Kono," Steve says, and there's no indecision about him at all now, just a sort of warning. She appreciates it, but doesn't find it necessary.

"Steve." Kono matches his tone and drops a second kiss on his hand, meeting his eyes steadily.

"You tell me if I'm just watching." Steve takes his hand out of hers and brings it up to her face.

"No," Kono says, suppressing a shiver when he finally stops hovering and touches her, feather-light and quick across her jaw. "You're not." She turns and threads her way out of the club, not having to look to know that he's right there behind her. He catches up to her right outside the door, the keys to his truck already in his hand, and she lets him take point, staying close but not touching, because she's fairly certain that once they start, they're not going to be able to stop.

They make it all the way to where the truck's parked in the far corner of the lot before she proves herself right, Steve's light touch on her shoulder, nothing more than a pointer to where the truck's parked in the far corner, turning into his hand sliding down her back. Kono stops dead and grabs for him, digging her nails into his arm, and then dragging them down when she hears how his breath hisses in. Steve drags her closer, the hand that was on her back dropping lower, curving over her hip, down onto her ass. His mouth comes down hard on hers, and she has a one last brief flash of sanity, of how very bad an idea this is, but then the last bits of control crash down around them.

Kono finds her hands buried in the short hair at the nape of his neck, pulling his head down to hers as though her brain can't bear even a second apart after the long tease of the night. She can taste the last tequila she bought for him, richer and more complex than it had been from the glass, but still heady and delicious.

Kono's not sure how they make it the last few steps without tripping, but she slams up hard against the side of the truck, pulling Steve closer when he starts easing away. She gets that it's probably better to take this someplace more private, but now that she's actually got what she's been wanting-- _craving_ \--half the night, she just does not fucking _care_ , especially not once she gets her mouth up under his jaw and he makes this quiet, choked-off sound and his hands tighten so hard on her that she knows she'll have bruises in the morning.

She plays with him a little, going back and forth between scraping her teeth over his skin and mouthing softly along the same path, amazed that he's letting her get away with such a tease, at least until he works a leg between hers, lifting her so she's pinned between his body and the truck at her back and he can slide his hands up under her shirt. She gasps as he traces along the curve of her breasts, the calluses from years of handling guns rough against her skin.

"Paybacks are a bitch," Steve murmurs, his fingers stopping just short of where she wantneedwants them and circling back down to scrape along her ribs. Kono definitely has something to say about bitches, but right as she takes a breath, he quits jerking her around and catches her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and it's so damn good--sharp, tight, _fierce_ \--she just yanks him closer and gives him what he wants, biting at the curve of jaw without a thought about what kind of marks she'll be leaving.

Steve gets his his head tilted back in a clear invitation and time goes sideways again, lost in a blur of heated skin and hard muscle under hands, against her mouth; of rough, knowing hands and a wicked, wicked mouth on her own skin.

"Yes, _yes_ ," Kono can hear herself hissing, and she feels as much as hears Steve's low half-growls every time she bites down. She doesn't come back into anything that could even be halfway considered to be her right mind until he stops and whispers her name, _Kono, Kono_ , one big hand already inside her jeans, inside the cotton of her so-not-sexy underwear, her hips arching into the weight and heat flexing slowly against her.

"God," Kono says, laying her head back against the truck, dragging air into her lungs in a shaky rush. "Oh, _God_." She doesn't know when she's ever sounded so--she doesn't _do_ needy, or clingy, or desperate, but she's got one leg wrapped around his waist and she's open and wet and aching for more, and with everything else that's happened on this completely fucked-up day, she can't bring herself to think it matters if he knows she wants him so bad she can barely breathe.

" _U'i--_ ," Steve says, _beautiful_. He sounds wrecked, too, and that smooths things out, makes it so she can admit that they're doing this, they're in it together, no matter crazy and reckless it is.

"Come on, Steve; do it," Kono whispers, picking her head up, tightening her fingers at the base of his skull, making him look at her. "Now, dammit, _now_."

Steve still hesitates for a long second, and Kono says, though gritted teeth, "I swear to God if you make me beg I will shoot you with the gun you gave me for graduation." Steve huffs out a startled laugh, but then his hand is moving and he's pushing hard inside her, fucking her with two fingers, then three, and Kono can't do anything but tighten her leg around him and draw him in deeper. He covers her mouth with his own, swallowing down the noises spilling out of her--and maybe covering a few of his own, especially when Kono manages to get a hand inside his pants.

"Ah, fuck yeah." Steve tears his mouth away from Kono's and bites down on her shoulder. He falters for a second before he picks back up, his hand fucking into her strong and rough. It's easy enough for her to mirror his rhythm, and if it's not the nastiest, roughest hand job Kono's ever given someone, it's definitely in the top two and she's pretty sure the other one doesn't count.

"Like that," Kono grits out. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , Steve, don't stop." She drags her nails across the head of his cock, sharper and harder than she means to, but from the way he pushes into it, she's not far off the mark. He twists his wrist hard, curving his fingers inside her, then does it again, and _again_ , and she can't breathe for how fucking good it is, one steep, jagged wave after another until she's shaking and coming and bringing him off with her.

***

Kono's done some reckless shit in her life--you don't stand on a piece of fiberglass in shark-infested waters off the coast of South Africa without confronting that truth about yourself--but fucking her boss in a parking lot should be a whole new level of were-you-even- _thinking_?

Except it's not. She lays her head back against the truck and takes a couple of seconds to let that sink in.

Steve eases back a tiny bit, enough that they're not sharing skin, but not so much that Kono has to let go of him, and she will definitely think more about why some primitive part of her brain likes that she can keep contact, but not until later. Right now, she's got all she can deal with in trying to not to fall over as she gets the leg she's had wrapped around him back on the ground. Steve steadies her for a couple of seconds, one arm braced on the truck, and when she picks her head up, he's watching her with body language that's all but screaming DefCon 1.

"I'm good," Kono tells him, rolling her eyes at the hesitant smirk she can see quirking at the corner of his mouth. Sometimes guys are so predictable, loving the double entendres. "And I'm not going to fall over either," she adds, and watches with great satisfaction as it blooms into an actual smile. She'll have to think about that satisfaction later, too. Before she can say anything else, he's gotten the door behind her unlocked, and her out of the way so he can open it and sit her down inside. Usually, she just laughs when Danny goes off on one of his ninja rants, but everything all happens so quickly and smoothly she might have to agree with Danny the next time.

Of course, she'll have to do it in her head. In theory, she knows she could come up with some kind of a plausible explanation for how she knows, but reality and bitter past experience says she'll end up red enough that Chin will take one look at her and figure it out in a heartbeat and there's no way he wouldn't rat her out to Danny. It's not that she minds them knowing, but she'd kind of like to get some shit figured out first.

Steve's disappeared from view, but there are noises coming from the lockbox behind the cab, and before Kono has time to get her brain to frame the "the hell are you doing?" question, he's back with a couple of bottles of water, an extra shirt to use as a rag, and politely averted eyes while she gets herself cleaned up and put back together. She'd like to tease him about being so well-prepared, but she can tell from the set of his shoulders that he wouldn't take it the right way, and this is enough of a... situation already, so she just slides out of the truck and leans up against it.

"Since I'm pretty sure that wasn't a disappointment as quick fucks go," she starts, and holy crap, it might make her a bad person, but she is _loving_ the deer-in-the-headlights look on his face, "I'm going to assume you're standing there like the firing squad is on the way for some other reason."

"Kono," Steve says, scrubbing his hand over his head.

"Yeah, I know," Kono answers. "Bad idea. I get it, really, I do; I'm just having a hard time making myself care."

Steve doesn't say anything, only shakes his head, and his shoulders are still stiff enough that she could probably bounce a quarter off them. Somewhere in the insanity that's been getting Five-0 up and running, Kono's figured out how to translate the wordless communications Steve's noted for, and this one is pure _my fault, know better than this_.

"Seriously," Kono sighs. "You can trust me to have your back when you're going up against a guy who'd love to have splattered your brains all over this truck, but I can't trust you enough to deal with fucking me against it? After everything else that's gone on today, we're supposed to lose it over _sex_?"

"Yes?" Steve says, and he's trying to keep the whole thousand-yard-stare going but she can see the cracks around the edges. They look like laugh lines, and she probably should be worried about how much she likes seeing them.

"Give it a rest, McGarrett," Kono says, and this time when he shakes his head, it's less in frustration and more amusement. Kono watches for a couple of seconds to make sure she's not just hallucinating it all, and then lets herself settle back into the truck, tipping sideways to lean against the seat while still facing him.

"It's been a long day, you know?" Kono closes her eyes and wishes she still didn't see Chin's face, the bomb, the fucking _ten million dollars_ floating away in the smoke. Stupid choices like fucking her boss against his car are supposed to help with the bad mental images.

"I do," Steve says, sounding more than a little rough around the edges. "You ready to call it?"

"I wish," Kono says. The crazy, manic edge she's been riding ever since she gotten the call about Chin is starting to fade, but it's still there and she doesn't think sleep's going to come, not for a while yet.

"Yeah," Steve says. "Me, too."

Kono eyes him thoughtfully; she's been focused almost exclusively on Chin--they all have--but even with the little she knows, there's a lot of bad blood between Steve and Victor Hesse, and if the worst of it didn't play out in Steve's house, Kono doesn't want to know.

"Okay, then," Kono says, coming to a decision, because it's pretty clear _somebody_ has to take charge. She sits up, swinging her legs into the truck, and ignores the voice in the back of her head that's insisting that she should just leave now, before anything else insane happens. "We're out of here. You're driving."

"I am?" Steve asks, but he crosses over to the driver's side regardless. Kono slams her door and tells the little voice to shut the hell up, she's not listening. "Where am I driving to?"

"I don't care," Kono answers. "Anyplace that's not here.” She thinks about it for a second. "Or Waipahu." Steve grunts in agreement, which isn't a surprise. Kono could go the rest of her life without seeing any of those fields again; she doesn’t doubt Steve's in the same place. "Or my mother's."

"Oh, yeah, your mother's--that's exactly where I thought I might go," Steve says, putting the truck in gear and backing out of the parking space. "'And aloha to you, Mrs. Kalakaua. Why yes, yes, I have enjoyed my evening with your daughter--'"

"Damn straight you enjoyed it," Kono snorts. Steve gives her one of his looks, but frankly, she's immune, at least when it doesn't have to do with actual work. "Oh, and not your place, either," she adds, as he comes up on Kapiolani and makes the turn for H1. The ghost of John McGarrett is already all over this day; she doesn't need to be trying to deal with it on its home turf.

"For not caring, you sure are picky," Steve says, but his voice is easy and almost relaxed. "Any place else you want to strike?"

"I'm still not in the mood for surfers," Kono says, tucking one leg up under the other.

"Right, so that takes out the entire North Shore."

"Like you were going to voluntarily hang out in the Country anyway," Kono points out in her most reasonable voice, the one that sends Chin running for cover. Danny, too. Steve just grins at her.

"I have an idea," he says, but won't tell her anything, just jumps off H1 and picks up Pali Highway. It sort of fits with the rest of the crazy day that Kono finds herself kicked back in Steve's truck, watching the headlights pick up the road as they climb up past Nu'uanu Pali, letting the wind and the dark sink into her and file off a few more of the jagged edges. She's almost disappointed when they make it over the Reserve and down into the lights and busyness of Kailua.

"Hang loose," Steve says, pulling up in front of a little mom-and-pop store and turning the engine off. He's out of the car and into the shop before Kono can ask, and back out again carrying two coffees before she can get impatient. "Ten more minutes," he promises, handing her the coffees and pulling back out onto the street.

"Works for me," she says, which is the truth. Her brain is finally starting to slow down; she can almost see a little edge of calm in the distance.

It takes closer to fifteen minutes for Steve and the GPS to wind them through the quiet residential streets; Kono figures out he's aiming for Lanikai before too long.

"Does it fall under the no-surfer rule?" Steve asks, as he makes the final turn onto Mokulua and slows down to start looking for parking.

"Nah, it's okay," Kono says. "I haven't been out here in years."

Steve doesn't say anything, but from how easily he picks a place to park and how close they end up to one of the public access paths--none of which are easy to find, not unless you know where you're going--Kono figures he's made the trip since he's been back on Oahu.

She juggles the coffees and the car door, getting it closed without dropping either cup right as Steve vaults back over the side of the truck carrying one of his dry bags and a Maglite. She follows him along the dark path, managing not to twist an ankle or lose her footing in the sandy soil, and just as they come out onto the beach, the moon breaks free of the clouds, lighting everything up almost as bright as day.

"Oh," Kono says, taking a deep breath air that's salty from the ocean and sweet from the plumeria, and it feels like the first breath she's taken all day. She lets it out slowly, then does it again and notices absently that Steve's doing the same thing. The beach is narrow in front of them, the seawalls marking the end of the property of the houses to either side of the public walkway interrupting the sand only a few yards from the high tide mark. The waves are small tonight, almost flat, though she knows there's a storm gearing up that will send the good stuff ashore in a day or two. They're still big enough that the moonlight can pick out the crests, cool silver light over the dark of the trough. "Nice."

"Yeah." Steve takes one more deep breath, then shakes a space blanket free from the bag, snapping it open and laying it out on the sand before going back and digging in the bag again. Kono drops down on her knees, moving carefully to not spill the coffee and getting herself settled with the seawall at her back.

"Here," Steve says, holding out a flask, and Kono lets him Irish up her coffee, a little bemused at everything her wanting to get away from the scene of the crime, so to speak, has turned into. She would have bet a month's pay that Steve would be the type to drive the gas tank dry if he had the choice.

It's not a perfect full moon--the clouds are still racing high and quick, sending shadows flickering across the water--but it's bright enough that there's a catamaran further down the beach easing out from the shore. Kono thinks she counts three on the canvas, but it's hard to tell in the shaky light and the voices all blend together as they call to each other, getting her set up and ready to go. They bring her about so the spinnaker catches the wind and Kono watches, almost breathless as they leap forward. The clouds blow clear right then, catching the whole scene in the pure light, the sails almost glowing against the dark horizon and the blacker outlines of the Mokulua islands just off-shore.

"We used to surf on nights like this," Kono says. Sometimes the memories are so sharp, so clear, she can't believe she doesn't live in that world now. She puts her coffee down so she can loop her arms around her knees. "At Sunset, mostly, or Lani's, but every now and then the timing would be perfect and we'd get to hit Pipeline."

"Hellgirl." Steve drawls it out, and he's definitely been spending too much time with Chin.

"Says the man who lets himself fall for three _miles_ before he pulls his parachute."

"Observing, not judging," Steve says, with one of his half-smiles, and maybe she's been waiting for that all night, because words are falling out of her mouth before she even knows they're there.

"Is it always like this?" Kono puts her head down on her knees, mostly because she's suddenly exhausted, the day finally catching up with her. It's only a little because it's easier to ask the question without having to meet his eyes.

"Sometimes," Steve says, soft and regretful. "It gets better, mostly, but… some are worse than others."

Kono nods into her knees, and focuses on her breathing, on the quiet cycle of the waves hitting the sand at the surfline.

"I think I forgot in all the-- In everything," Steve says, still in that quiet voice. "But that was a crack shot. Outstanding." He says it like he knows everything that's been shifting through Kono's head, the satisfaction of doing it right butting up against how coldly different taking the long shot was from returning fire in the heat of the moment, the ungodly relief of seeing Steve deactivate the bomb layered over everything it had taken to get them there.

"Thanks," Kono murmurs. She almost tells him that she wanted to put the bullet in Hesse's head, but she thinks he knows that already. Instead, she just goes back to breathing and letting the sound of the waves wear down the last of the edges. Steve's quiet beside her; when she finally picks her head up and looks at him, he's watching the waves and if he's a million miles deep in his head, he's relaxed enough that she doesn't think he's ended up in a bad place.

"You knew it was the full moon tonight, didn't you?" Kono asks, and smiles when Steve shrugs, half-sheepishly. "On behalf of Danny, I should definitely be giving you a hard time about being Science Guy."

"Because Danny is in dire need of your assistance," Steve says, dry as dirt, but returning the smile.

"Team solidarity is so important," Kono deadpans, and Steve huffs out a small laugh that blends in with the wind and the ocean. Kono drinks her spiked coffee and finally doesn't find it difficult to not think about the day.

"I just... check," Steve says, unexpectedly. "The moon cycle--it makes a difference if you're going in on a night like this, or if it's dark, or somewhere in between. It's habit, one of those things I don't even notice I'm doing, but, uh, not exactly normal."

"I still check the tide charts." Kono shrugs. "And weird or not, your looking had a good pay-off tonight." She leans back against the seawall and stretches her legs out, eying the coffee she's cradling in her lap thoughtfully. "You know, now that I think about it, caffeine is probably not the best idea, but I guess it's too late now."

Steve lets her drain the rest of it before he tells her, "I, uh, know your feelings on the subject, but, I figured throwing caffeine into the mix would be bad, so, uh, it's decaf?" He says it quickly, like that might make the words less incendiary.

The last time somebody switched out the office grind with decaf (no one's taking responsibility, but Kono is fairly certain the blame lies with Chin, because he's too nice to tell the ladies who stock the kitchen that hell, no, they don't touch the stuff at Five-0), everyone was trapped at their desks with massive amounts of paperwork that had to get out or they'd lose funding. Kono and Danny spent the entire day listing possible means of retribution, shouting ideas back and forth in increasingly gory detail.

"If it helps, so's mine," Steve adds, when Kono makes a face. "Decaf."

It's nice to know Steve was listening, or at least enough to know he was playing with fire. It's a stupid thing to get torqued up about on a day like this one, and she's not, but that doesn't mean she can't give him a little shit about it, especially since he's so very clearly waiting for it.

"You know, Mary told me you got your control freak on in normal life, too, but--"

"The thought of you and my sister having conversations about me is really not something I want to know about," Steve interrupts.

"Oh, it was very... entertaining." Kono smirks at his groan. "And educational. But I guess I can give you a break about feeding me decaf, but only because you carry the good stuff to add to it." She lays her head back against the wall and closes her eyes. "Do I even want to know what else is in that lockbox?"

"Probably not," Steve says easily, which is all the answer she really needs.

The clouds are heavier now, and it's more dark than light, but the moon's still there, and Kono tips her head back and watches it, letting all the stories of Hina the aunties used to tell her float through her mind, remembering sitting on Chin's shoulders and waving to her in her home on the moon and wondering if she was lonely.

"Any time you're ready to go, say the word," Steve says after a while.

"'m fine," Kono murmurs. "No problem. It's a good place."

Steve makes a wordless noise that sounds like agreement, and whatever else is going on, Kono is fiercely happy he's not in that house, walking through rooms that had to have his father's blood scrubbed off them.

"It's not a good night to be alone," Kono says, even though it feels like it's crossing some kind of line, especially since what she means is _If it hadn't been you, it would've been somebody else and this is better_. This time he doesn't acknowledge what she's said, and she knows exactly what that means.

"That list that you keep? The one with all the things you think you didn't do right? Don't add me to it," Kono says. "I will have a problem with that."

She probably shouldn't have said that either, or at least not so bluntly, and maybe before he brought her to watch the full moon over Lanikai and the Mokuluas she wouldn't have. They're here now, though, and she needs to to be clear. Steve doesn't say anything, but when she prods at him with a sandy foot, he rolls up onto one elbow gives her one of his _yeah, fine, whatever_ looks. She pokes him again a little harder.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am," Steve says, and she'd smack him for the smirk inherent in the tone, except that he nudges his hand against hers, and doesn't move, not even when she loops her pinkie around his. At the very least, she said what she needed to say, and he heard it, and maybe it won't take more than a year to beat it into his stubborn head.

"You gonna be at Danny's tomorrow?" Steve asks, after a long enough silence that says he knows she'll let him off the hook for changing the subject. She's tempted not to, just out of sheer stubbornness, but he still hasn't moved his hand, so she'll give him a break.

"Of course," Kono says, tightening her fingers around his. " _Ohana_ , right?"

"Right," Steve agrees, and whatever else has happened during that day, Kono finds it makes perfect sense that they spend the rest of the night sitting on the sand, watching the moon set and the sun rise.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kare and Becca, who read daily and kept asking for more; and much love always to Donna, who not only read along daily and listened to me whine, but who went above and beyond the call of friendship and went title hunting for me.
> 
> Title from Massive Attack's _Teardrop_.


End file.
